


In the land of the Emotionally Repressed, Dean Winchester is King.

by zoemathemata



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemathemata/pseuds/zoemathemata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/deancas_xmas/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/deancas_xmas/"><b>deancas_xmas</b></a> Secret Santa. Dean does his best to cheer Castiel when Cas is disheartened by recent events and is left blind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the land of the Emotionally Repressed, Dean Winchester is King.

**Author's Note:**

> Indeterminate setting. It’s more of an emotional whumping than a physical one. Because Cas can take a lot physically, I feel like emotions would be his downfall. I know they are my own characters but I think I fell a little in love with Alecto and Moses. This was my first supernatural fanfic!

Dean expected Castiel sometime close to dawn, and let himself drift off. but he shot awake at the firm press of Castiel’s hand at the center of his chest and the deep timbre of his voice shortly after two in the morning.

“Dean.”

He was instantly wide awake.

“Cas? What’s wrong?” he hissed lowly. “What time is it?”

“I do not know.” The angel was turned away from Dean, seated on the side of the bed.

Dean glanced at the clock, reading the small, glaring numbers.

“How did it go?”

“I do not wish you to become … agitated.”

Dean’s throat got tight. “Okay, that right there? That makes me ‘agitated.’ What happened?”

Castiel hesitated slightly. “She agreed to consider the proposition of an alliance and take the matter up with her sisters.”

Dean breathed out a short sigh of relief. “That’s good right? I mean, she didn’t say no.”

He stretched a hand out to flick on the lamp. Unerringly, Castiel’s hand snaked out in the dark and clamped over his wrist before his fingers hit the switch.

“Wait.” Castiel gently led Dean’s hand back to the mattress, fingers curled firmly around his bones.

“There’s a ‘but’ isn’t there?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Always a fucking ‘but,’” he muttered.

“She requested a small … token to prove our fortitude.”

Sick dread started dragging her icy fingers across Dean’s lower spine. “What kind of token?”

Another hesitation. “They will grow back.” Castiel’s voice was earnest as if it were important that Dean believe him.

“What will grow back?” Dean’s voice was low, nearly a whisper and so he hoped that Cas hadn’t heard the slight waver in the timbre. Castiel’s fingers tightened once on Dean’s wrist and then he released the joint.

“My eyes. You may turn on the light now if you wish.”

Dean was a needle on a record and Castiel’s statement pushed him out of the comfortable groove and sent him skittering across the corrugated surface with an awful screech.

“Your … what?”

“She asked for a small tribute to prove our worth as allies,” he repeated. “I replied that I was unsure as to what would be considered sufficient.”

“You let _her_ choose? Jesus, you never let _them_ choose!”

“It is of little consequence since, as I assured you, they will grow back. She knew they would grow back as well.” He sounded rather dispassionate about the entire affair. Tired.

“Fucking hell, that’s not the point.”

“She was quite quick and efficient. Her claws were very sharp. It only took a fraction of time.”

Dean finally flicked the light on. Castiel sat on the side of the bed, feet planted solidly on the floor, head titled slightly to the side, as if to hear Dean better. His familiar tan coat was slightly wrinkled, blood splattered down the front. Castiel probably didn’t realize he was covered in his own blood. Castiel already had white gauze stretched over his eyes, wrapped around his head and tucked in neatly.  
“Where did you get the bandages from?”

“She bandaged them for me.”

“She did what?”

“She offered to bandage them and I accepted.”

“What the fuck for?”

“It seemed like a reasonable alternative to standing there bleeding while we spoke.”

“No, I mean…” Dean huffed. “Why would _she_ do that?”

“The Furies were not only known for avenging wrongs. In many stories they are also known as Kindly Ones, meeting out justice and affection for those who could not get either for themselves. I doubt she wanted to see me suffer. Once she had her tribute, she was satisfied.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she’s a fucking saint,” huffed Dean sarcastically. “C’mere, I want to make sure you’re all right.” He reached out, placed a finger under Castiel’s chin to turn it toward him. He continued to mutter under his breath, “… some handsy bitch claws your eyes out and then has the goddamn nerve to bandage you up, probably gave you sepsis or some ancient fucking sickness with her dirty Greek claws, I fucking knew I should have gone with you …”

Castiel pulled back when Dean started to unwrap the bandages and waved him away. The gesture was slightly clumsy, Castiel’s arm whacking into the flat of Dean’s palm with a soft ‘thwump.’

“I do not think you wish to see them. I am fine. They will grow back. But with my powers diminished from being cut off from the Host… it will take some time.”

“How much time?”

Another quiet sigh. “I’m not sure, Dean.”

Silence stretched out and wrapped around them heavy.

“C’mon, I’ll help you take your clothes off.” Dean lithely slipped out from under the covers and stood before Cas.

Castiel stood up, patient as Dean slid both coats off his shoulders and tossed them over a chair.

“Did you know your clothes have blood on them?” Cas’ generally pristine white shirt had trails of blood running down the front.

He could see Cas’ eyebrows dart together in a frown, just barely peaking up over the bandages.

“I thought I had cleaned them.”

“Maybe it doesn’t work if you can’t see it.” Dean worked on the buttons.

“Perhaps.” Castiel shrugged his shoulders slightly to ease the shirt off.

“S’cool. You can wear something of mine tomorrow.”

“I’m tired, Dean.”

Castiel shucked his shoes and pants while Dean rifled through his duffle bag, yanked out a t-shirt and gave it a cursory sniff. Clean.

“It’s been a long couple of days,” replied Dean while he slid the soft, dark cotton over Cas’ head and helped him feed his arms through the short sleeves.

Cas sent his hands out to touch the mattress and judge the distance before he sank back down to sit on the bed.

“It is not the length of the days that tires me. It is the contents.”

Dean grunted a non-committal agreement. “Everything seems worse at night,” he said calmly. “Lie down.”

It was unnerving sometimes, how easily Cas would do what Dean told him. Not that Dean made a habit of ordering him around, but a lifetime of hunting had made him brusque with his speech. Efficient. He tended not to use words he didn’t need and that often meant he sounded like he was giving commands. Of course, sometimes he _was_ giving commands, but he felt weird when he said something and Cas just did it.

Castiel stretched out his hands, feeling around for the pillows and the edge of the mattress. Dean hovered, not quite touching but close enough to make his presence known. When the angel had sufficiently mapped out the bed with his fingertips, he tucked his feet under the light blanket and turned on his side, bring the fabric up and over his shoulder. Facing away from Dean. Which was… not usual.

Fuck. They might have to ‘talk.’ He felt more dread at that than when Castiel had first mentioned the Fury wanted a token. But he could be cool with it. He staked vampires. Burned bodies. Hunted things. Killed demons. He could talk. Talking was easy. He talked all the time. About… stuff. Lots of stuff. So he was not afraid to talk about stuff with Castiel. Nope.

He flicked off the lamp and crawled back into bed. It was an older mattress that had a slight dip in the center and when he settled down on his side, Cas sunk back a bit toward him, pulled by the gravity well. Dean wrapped an arm around him and used him to pull in closer. His lips brushed up against the bony vertebrae at the base of Castiel’s neck.

“So what happened? Other than the part where she was a total bitch and clawed your eyes out.”

As always, there was a pause until he felt Castiel’s lungs expand slightly as he inhaled to speak.

“She was quite civilized, actually. Which I did not expect. She was cordial and spoke easily with me. She had knowledge of me.”

“What, she knew you?” That made Dean uneasy.

“She didn’t know of me per se, but she knew of angels and mentioned that she had dealt with some many lifetimes ago. She is quite old. She may in fact, be older than me.”

“Dude, that is _old_.” Dean joked, giving Cas a small squeeze.

The sound of Dean’s low timbered voice in the dark soothed him. He once told Dean that he enjoyed listening to him speak, especially when his lips were close, the extra vibrations from the proximity running into his skin and sometimes raising the fine hairs. Dean had proclaimed it a chick-flick moment and had tried to cut him off. Castiel had simply waited patiently until Dean finished his short tirade and completed his sentence anyway. Cas had also liked the slight flush that had crept up Dean’s neck immediately thereafter.

“And then?”

He waited for Castiel to gather his words again. Dean often pictured Castiel rifling through words in his head like a giant rolodex, trying to find ones that would best fit what he wished to say; recount a story, explain mythology or express new, fragile emotions he felt. It had occurred to Dean as well, that English wasn’t Castiel’s first language. First, second, nineteenth, or one-thousandth. . . Castiel probably thought in some bizarre Angelic tongue that had never been heard by human ears and then had to work it into simple English.

“I attempted to persuade her that an alliance was in her best interests.”

“What didja say?”

He would swear to… well not to God, because his faith was still On Strike, but he would swear to _something_ that he felt Castiel’s eyebrows draw together in consternation. Castiel sighed and shifted, turning over onto his back and Dean pulled away slightly, shifted, so he could focus on his profile. The dim light of the alarm clock casting a green glow on his face. As predicted, his eyebrows were furrowed, just soft tips showing above the bandage.

“I asked her if my understanding of her function was correct.”

“Come again?”

“I explained to her that my knowledge of the Furies had led me to believe that they were primarily creatures of vengeance. While they could be called on to be gracious or kind, they were most often called on to provide justice or retribution.” Again Castiel paused while he chose his next words. “She said,” he hesitated, as though trying to get the phrase right, “that was the Cliff notes, but she’d take it.”

“It means you got the short of it, if not the long.” Dean’s lips brushed over the skin of Castiel’s shoulder as he spoke.

“Ah.” Castiel’s face relaxed as if a final puzzle piece had settled into place. He absently ran his fingers over the back of Dean’s hand, going back and forth over the knuckles.

“At the time I did not understand her reference so I continued as though I was correct. I told her it would behoove her to assist us in stopping the apocalypse, for she would need humans from which to feed.”

“Don’t say ‘behoove.’ No one says ‘behoove.’” Dean’s words were distorted by a yawn.

“And humans,” Castiel continued, used to Dean’s interjectory vocabulary tutelage, “would want to unite with each other if faced with a new, external threat such as the apocalypse. Which would lead to less opportunities for satisfactory feedings.”

 _Oh, Jesus_. Dean resisted the urge to sigh. They should send Sam on all diplomatic meetings. He was clearly the only one with a fine grasp of the nuances of the English language. Castiel didn’t quite understand why his words were coming across the way they were, and Dean just couldn’t be fucking bothered.

“Is that how you said it?” The fact that Cas couldn’t see the look on Dean’s face was kind of a small mercy.

Castiel thought about the question. “More or less. It is difficult to say with accuracy. We were conversing in ancient Greek.”

Of course they were. Scratch Sam for diplomatic missions.

“And how did she take it?”

“I don’t know.”

“So what’s buggin’ you?”

Pursed lips. “I believe the argument was a strong one, and I advocated it for several minutes.” His fingers stopped running back and forth over Dean’s knuckles.

 _Yahtzee_.

“But…” Dean prompted.

“I am… dismayed by my own rationalizations.” His fingers slid over Dean’s once more and then tightened fractionally.

“Because…”

“Because I believe them to be accurate. Humans have an extraordinary capacity to turn on each other with out an external force oppressing them. The adeptness with which humans hurt each other…the startling regularity with which they do it… Today I stood in front of a being whose powers I do not understand, but whose help could be instrumental in assisting us and the only enticement I could offer for an alliance was that if she joins us in saving humanity, she can feed off the results of that salvation when humanity again turns on itself.”

Well, shit. When you put it like that, it was fantastically depressing.

He understood now what Cas had meant when he said he was tired. It wasn’t as though Dean forgot Castiel wasn’t human. There were far too many daily reminders for that. But he did forget that emotions were relatively new. Eons of being detached and removed from humans left Castiel ill-prepared for the daily onslaught of sadness, sorrow and disappointment to which most humans had built up a resistance. Castiel wasn’t tired so much as wrung out.

Dean thumped his thumb on Castiel’s sternum while he tried to think of something profound, something comforting to say.

“Dude, that sucks.”

“It is very… disheartening.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. As far as he was concerned, Cas was right. Humans did crazy shit to one another and they did it all the time. It was totally fucked up and wrong and made him depressed too sometimes. Mostly it just made him angry. Sometimes a little sick, but mostly angry. But Cas wasn’t supposed to feel that way. He was supposed to be heavenly and full of grace and contemplative and knowledgeable. With a side helping of having the hots for Dean. Cas wasn’t supposed to be ‘disheartened.’

That stupid Greek bitch - Fury - whatever - broke his angel, god-dammit.

It was almost ridiculous but Dean was more upset about this than he was about the eyes. The eyes would grow back (and they better be as fucking perfect as before or he was going to have the mother of all barbecues find out exactly what charred Fury tasted like). And yeah, he’d been surprised by the whole lack-of-eyes thing, but honestly? He’d kind of gotten used to Cas being able to heal himself. Not that it didn’t make his brain stutter like a stalled car when something did happen, but he could rationalize it away, knowing that the angel would heal, and all would be right in Dean’s world for about five seconds until the next crisis struck.

But now he stared at Castiel’s face in the low light, his eyes covered, his mouth turned slightly downward. Dean thought he could almost feel soft, undulating waves of melancholy emanating from him.

Cas was… sad.

And that shit would not fly.

He propped his head up on his elbow, his thumb still lightly tapping out a beat on Castiel’s chest (Thuderstruck).

“But, you know,” he stalled for time. “There’s tons of shit that’s good too.” _Drawing a blank at this exact moment, but never-mind about that_. “Tons,” he forced.

“I have watched humanity for millennia, Dean. There is very little that I have not seen.”

“Well, yeah, but since you started going all touchy-feely,” emphasis on the touchy, _yes please_ , “you’ve kinda been stuck in the apocalypse. Not exactly a crowd-pleaser.”

“I have been with you,” said Cas, as if that made up for being stuck in ‘ _All Apocalypse, All the Time_.’

“And I’m a barrel of laughs,” Dean intoned dryly. “Seriously, it’s a wonder you can stand it.”

Castiel tipped his sightless face toward Dean. “I enjoy being with you. Currently you are the only source of exultation on which I can rely.”

The thumb tapping out ‘Thunderstruck’ on Castiel’s sternum stopped. “Dude. What did I say about that kind of talk? You can _not_ say shit like that. It’s embarrassing.”

“I have yet to experience this embarrassment that arises from hearing someone cares deeply for you. I do not look forward to it.” His tone was morose. Low.

Ladies and gentlemen, Dean Winchester: Puppy Kicker. Fuck.

His hand roamed down and squeezed Castiel’s hip. “No, I… you don’t… not everyone… aw fuckit. Don’t go by me. I’m fucked up. Say what you want.” _That_ was gonna come back and bite him in the ass.

“Dean, you do not have to mollify me, although I greatly appreciate the sentiment.”

“I’m not… look, nighttime is a really bad time to discuss heavy shit like this. I told you, everything seems worse at night. It’s ‘cause it’s dark, and nobody likes the dark, scary things come out in the dark and sometimes you think the sun won’t come up. But it does. ‘Cause it’s the sun.” He paused. “And that’s what it does.” He repeated.

Worst motivational speech ever. He rolled his eyes at his inane words.

“It’s all right, Dean,” Castiel settled his hand over top of Dean’s and gave the fingers a small press. “You may sleep now. I believe I will meditate to assist the regeneration of my eyes.”

He felt bad, but it was hard not to be relieved. He dropped his forehead onto Cas’ shoulder.

“I’m shitty at this, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true,” he mumbled, his lips pressed up into the pillow.

Castiel felt his heart tighten pleasantly at the effort Dean was making. It’s true that it was not Dean’s forte, and in fact, was quite far from it,’ but Castiel felt an exquisite tremor in his chest and in his throat at his attempt. He tilted his head and placed his lips firmly in Dean’s hair.

“Thank you.”  
* * * *

The next morning, with Castiel meditating upstairs, Dean filled Sam in about his ‘mostly’ successful meeting with the Fury.

“Like, took them right from the sockets?” Sam questioned, his face kind of scrunched up.

Dean shrugged as he slurped his black coffee. “Bitch plucked them right out apparently. And now he’s…” Dean made a wide, sweeping motion with one hand that could have meant anything.

“Sounds like he’s depressed.” Sam leaned a hip bone against the counter.

“Thanks, Sigmund, I got that. But what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re…” another wide arcing hand gesture, “… with the feelings and the talking and the… feelings.”

“You said you talked last night.”

Dean huffed. “We did, but it didn’t exactly… y’know. Go well.”

“Imagine that.”

“Are you going to fucking help me or not?”

“Yeah, ‘cause your attitude totally makes me want to help.”

“Don’t bitchface me.” Dean waggled a finger in Sam’s face. Sam batted it away.

“Dude, I don’t know what you expect me to say. He’s your…” he was going to say ‘boyfriend’ but was pretty sure that would get him sucker punched, “… angel,” he finished lamely.

“Just tell me how to fix him.”

“I dunno. Just…” Sam sighed. Forget demons and monsters, his brother was totally going to be the death of him. “When Jess was depressed, I would just do nice things for her.”

“What kind of nice things?” Dean looked suspicious.

“I don’t know, nice things. If she said she felt like a mocha, I’d go out and get her a mocha and I’d put the little sprinkles on top, ‘cause she liked the sprinkles. And she liked seals so we’d go watch them swim around that tank thing at the zoo.”

“There’s no zoo around here!” Dean accused.

“Jesus.” Sam tossed his hands in the air. “Figure it out yourself then.” He pushed off the counter with his hip, and stalked out of the kitchen muttering under his breath. “Jerk.”

Fine. If that’s how Sam was gonna be he was going to have to do it himself. “Bitch.”

* * * *

And that was how Dean found himself standing in the local pet store convincing the pert seventeen year old behind the till to let his ‘friend’ hold a kitten.

“We usually don’t take them out of the back unless you fill in the forms.”

Her mouthful of metal braces gave her a slight lisp. And she slurped every few words. She was pretty in a coltish sort of way, all skinny limbs and awkwardness. She might be brunette, he hadn’t really checked. He was listening to her, but his eyes were focused on where he left Castiel. In the bird section. He’d left him by the budgies but somehow the angel had managed to wander sightlessly past the cockatoo (he snorted to himself. Cock-a-too) and was now dangerously close to some kind of large parrot.

He’d finally gotten Castiel out of the tan trench beast and douche-y navy suit and into some regular clothes. He straight out lied and told Cas his clothes were trashed ( _no way to get the blood out now, it set in_ ) despite the fact that after years of hunting, he could get the blood out of pretty much anything. When Cas wondered what he should wear now, Dean produced a grey henley and a pair of worn jeans. Fingering the fabric, Castiel had proclaimed them quite soft and thanked him in the quiet way he had.

They’d driven an hour and a half to get to a big enough pet store. One that was sure to have a plethora of sugary-sweet, so-cute-you-could-vomit, guaranteed-to-be-soft-and-make-you-love-the-world kittens. Castiel had kept his face turned toward the sun on the entire ride, like a plant soaking up the rays. He didn’t need the bandages and had only kept them on for the first night, complaining in the morning the gauze itched. He had removed the bandages and now simply kept his eyes shut or wore a pair of sunglasses Sam had given him.

“I just want him to touch one. Five minutes,” Dean argued, directing his face toward pet-girl, but keeping his eyes on Cas. His green eyes widened slightly as Castiel leaned toward the big bird cage and pressed his palm up against the metal. Cas had a very intent look on his face, discernible even with the sunglasses on. Like he was trying to _understand_ the parrot. Christ, for all Dean knew, he was.

“Owning a pet is a big responsibility,” the girl continued, clearly stealing glances beneath the till to check her script. Slurp. “And if you and your family decide to get a pet, you have to be peppered,” she frowned and grabbled the cue card. “Prepared,” she corrected, “to have that animal for the extent of its life.” Slurp.

The parrot jumped forward. Castiel leaned in as close as he could to the cage and slid his fingers in between the metal grill.

“Don’t do that!” Dean exclaimed. The girl twitched.

“Huh?” she lisped.

Dean didn’t even hear her. “Don’t put your fingers in there,” he called out.

Dean tensed his body ready to attack the parrot if necessary. He catalogued the weapons he had on his person and tried to figure out what would be best for a bird. Gun? Knife? Holy water?

The bird gave an ungodly shriek and, okay, Dean flinched.

Castiel tilted his head quizzically.

And the bird fucking tilted its head _back_.

Both pet-girl and Dean gaped. Castiel straightened his neck and the parrot…. Parroted. The avian came up as close as it could to the wire of the cage and poked its beak through a slot in the spokes, touching its mandible to the tip of Cas’ nose.

“What the fuck?”

“Maybe you should get him a bird instead.” Slurp. She was slightly awestruck. “Moses likes him.”

“What?” His head rotated back to the girl.

“Moses.” She pointed. “The parrot.”

“You named the bird Moses?”

The girl shrugged. Slurped. “He didn’t answer to any of the other names we tried.”

Dean watched Cas nose to… beak with the bird. Well, if that’s the way it was going to be…  
“Can he… can he hold the bird?” Dean gestured toward Castiel and Moses.

“Uh… Moses doesn’t really like most people.”

The bird was fucking nuzzling Castiel’s nose. Cas stood there patiently while the bird rubbed its beak back and forth. “I think Moses is willing to make an exception. And trust me, he’s not most people.”

He finally stole a glance back at the pet-girl. She stared at Castiel and Moses with a wide eyed look, like she was stuck between a bear and a lion. Probably calculating how much trouble she was going to get in.

Dean put himself in her line of sight, blocking Castiel and the bird. Her eyes immediately darted back to him and he unleashed his smile, full force. She blinked. He dipped his head down conspiratorially and looked up through his lashes.

“Please?”

“I gotta stay here and watch the till. But you can open the cage on the side. He bites,” she warned. “He bites hard.” She absently rubbed a finger.

“We’ll be okay.”

She gave him one last look. “He’s a mean fucker, really.”

Dean nodded once. “Got it.”

He sauntered over to where Moses was trying to have his way with Cas. Cas must have his Dean-Radar switched on, because as soon as he was within two feet, the angel turned his head away from the bird and toward Dean.

“What kind of avian is this?”

Dean checked the tag on the cage. “He’s a Congo African Grey Parrot.”

“What color is he?”

Dean tried to keep the tone out of his voice when he answered, “Grey.”

Castiel also tried to keep the tone out of his voice. “I meant what shades of grey.”

Dean eyeballed Moses, who, now that Dean looked at him, was giving him the evil bird-eye. “I dunno. Grey. He’s got, uh, white around his eyes, and,” Dean tilted his head a little. “A bit of red at the tail. He’s, like dark grey on top, and light grey on his… belly?” Did birds have bellies?  
He opened the cage and then suddenly realized he had no idea how to grab a bird. Did you just reach in and grab it by the neck? Should he put his arm out and wait for Moses to hop on? Maybe grab a wing?

“Girl says his name is Moses.”

Castiel nodded firmly. “It is a good name for him.”

Dean was glad Castiel couldn’t see him roll his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together. Look, the cage is open and you can touch him if you want.” He gestured uselessly.

“I believe I would enjoy that.” He started to raise his hand and without thinking, Dean grabbed his arm and put his other hand on Cas’ hip, moving him slightly to the left and in front of the door to the cage. Dean carefully directed Cas’ arm inside. He paused to give the bird a significant look, a look that said, _You bite him, I kill you_. Dean would have sworn on a stack of bibles the bird looked back at him fucking understood. And then proceeded to ignore Dean.

Moses hopped forward on his perch, toward Cas’ outstretched appendage and with one last graceful bounce, the bird landed solidly on his arm.

“Dude, these things can live for fifty years!” Dean exclaimed as he read the rest of the information tag on the cage.

Moses bird-walked up Cas’ arm and was now perched on his shoulder and started rubbing his beak against Castiel’s ear and was making soft bird noises.

“Am I gonna have to get you guys a room?”

Castiel lips twitched slightly as the bird tickled behind his ear.

Dean was not jealous.

Moses shook himself a little, like a wet dog, and the sound of rustling feathers…

“He sounds like you.” Dean huffed.

“It’s his wings.”

Moses turned his freaky bird stare back to Dean and Dean could have sworn that bird was giving him a Fuck Off vibe. Oblivious, Castiel raised his arm and pet the bird carefully, going with the grain of his feathers. Moses puffed his chest out proudly.

Castiel seemed… content. He lightly stroked the soft feathers of the bird’s trunk with his fingertips. Moses leaned slightly in toward his neck and Cas tipped his head slightly toward the bird in return. Dean jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Uh, we can’t keep him. You know that right?” Dean was nervous.

“I am aware. However, I wish to stay here for a few minutes.

“Uh-huh. Okay. I’ll be… you know…” Another useless hand wave which he tried to cover up by shoving his hand through his hair. “So holler if you need somethin’.”

Castiel’s attention was back on the bird. Stupid bird.

Dean wandered the aisles, frowning at some of the crazy shit he saw. Toothpaste for cats. Jesus. That meant there were toothbrushes… oh, there they were. Chew toys for dogs in the shape of squirrels. It’s not like you could fool the dogs into thinking it was a real squirrel. Sweaters for small dogs. _Dresses_ for even smaller dogs. Holy hell. If you were gonna get a dog, why would you get one the size of a rat? Why not just get a rat? This whole store was bullshit.

He came around the corner of the shelving and saw Cas standing silently with Moses perched on his shoulder, the two of them leaning into each other, and the angel still looked relaxed. Serene.

Stupid bullshit store was worth it.

So, first mission appeared successful. Operation ‘Fix Cas’ was going well.

A fact he had to remind himself of over and over again two hours later while Sam stitched up a two inch gash that damn bird left on his arm. Sam’s normally pristine stitching was slightly off due to his uncontrollable smirking and guffawing.

“I swear to god Sammy…”

“I would pay money to have been there. Cold hard cash.”

“Moses was highly distressed,” interjected Castiel.

“Moses? Moses was highly distressed?” barked Dean. “How about Dean was righteously pissed when that bird brain clawed a chunk of his arm out?”

“You startled him. You surreptitiously approached him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean’s jaw hung open. He turned to Sam. “That bird was fucking _jealous_.”

“You know you’re making it worse for yourself, right?”

“Shut up and sew.”

***

  
“And so they found He-who-will-not-be-named, staked him and salted and burned the motherfucker. And then Harry and Hermionie got it on.”

“Dean.” Cas really didn’t have to say anything else. The soft reprimand in his tone was sufficient to make Dean slightly sheepish. Sam stifled a chuckle from the corner of the room.

“Well, that’s what they should have done!”

Silence.

“I can’t believe you are even reading this.”

“You expressed a desire for me to immerse myself in pop culture. This was the most popular series at the store. And you proclaimed you would not do any research online regarding the Congo African Grey Parrot.”

“Stupid fucking bird,” he grumbled, itching at his bandage. “I’m probably contaminated.”

“Considering all the things you have fought against, I do not believe you will suffer any long term effects from Moses.” Castiel paused while Dean not-so-silently groused for a few more seconds. “You offered to read to me. This is the book I am reading. I am looking forward to continuing the young wizards’ adventures. They are young and brave and trying always to do the right thing. I find it charming and somewhat… moving.”

Well, now he felt like a douche for making fun of it. He looked down at Castiel’s face. He was lying on the sofa with his head in Dean’s lap. He waited patiently for Dean to begin reading, hands folded and resting on his chest.

“Additionally, I do not believe that Harry and Hermione have any romantic interest in each other.”

“Seriously?”

“I suspect she holds an affection for Ronald Weasley.”

“The red headed kid?” Dean was immediately sucked back into Harry Potter and started flipping pages randomly looking for Ron’s name. He was speechless. Harry was way cooler than Ron. And rich. He would totally pick Harry. He paused. There was _no way_ he just thought that.

“You know if I met him in real life, I would stake him, right? He’s a witch.”

“A wizard,” Cas clarified. “And he is a good wizard.”

“No such thing.”

Another silence.

“All right, fine.” Dean sighed, long and drawn out. “Chapter Four, The Leaky Cauldron...” he read aloud.

* * * *

Dean straightened and looked up expectantly when Sam came back in, loaded down with grocery bags.

“Did you get pie?”

“Dude, when have I ever forgotten the pie?”

Dean gave him the hairy eyeball. Sam scrunched up his face. Bitchface. Cas remained silent from where he sat at the small, square kitchen table, sunglasses perched on his nose.

“One time, one time I forgot the pie. Could you let it go?” Sam set the grocery bags down on the cheap formica counter.

“I had just gotten back from hell, and you forgot pie,” Dean accused, starting to rifle through the bags.

“Well then, this is my mulligan, because I got two pies,” he said triumphantly and with a flourish pulled them out. Cherry and pecan.

Dean was still suspicious.

“Is there ice cream?”

“Please,” Sam scoffed and produced a small bucket of quickly melting vanilla ice cream. Dean grabbed both pies, two spoons, plates and the ice cream and sat kiddy corner next to Cas at the table.

“Pie for dinner.” He was triumphant. He leaned back and snagged two sodas from the fridge, cracking them both open with the snap-hiss of fresh pop.

“I was under the impression that one could not eat just pie for dinner.”

“You can if you eat enough of it.”

“Don’t worry, Cas,” interjected Sam. “I got you a salad too.”

“I would like the salad as well, thank you, Sam.”

“Pie first, salad later,” proclaimed Dean. “If at all,” he added under his breath.

“Without the use of my sight, my hearing has improved greatly.”

Sam snorted and snagged two of the grocery bags with the pinky finger of one hand, while he grabbed a beer from the fridge with the other.

“Are you not joining us for pie?”

It was kind of creepy how good Castiel was at interpreting what he was hearing and translating it into what was going on. Especially since human nuances weren’t his ‘thing.’

Sam looked dubiously at Dean, then at the pies and then back to Castiel. “Uh… the thing is…” he trailed off not quite sure how to tell the angel that Dean made really awkward, blush worthy sounds even when he was eating pie in a room full of people, never mind two full pies. With an angel. Who was likely going to need help eating the pie. Help from Dean. Who loved pie. And the angel too. And now Sam was back to feeling really squicked out and uncomfortable again, like he had been in the bakery when he had to choose which pies to get in the first place. He had no doubt that Dean’s intentions were (somewhat, mostly, okay probably not) pure and he really was having Pie Night to do something nice for Castiel. Just as he no doubt that he was getting the hell out of the kitchen before those pies came out of the box.

“I’ve got… a thing. With some stuff. And it’s in the other…” He gave a quick smile that was totally lost on the sightless angel. “Enjoy your pie.”

And Sam Winchester got the hell outta Dodge.

Dean shrugged. More pie for them.

“Does Sam not like pie?” Castiel had turned his head to the direction in which Sam had just departed.

“Dude, that guy has more problems than you can shake a stick at. Twitchy. His loss is our pie gain.”

Castiel had turned back around, his face directed toward the table. Both hands were resting on the wooden table, palms down, his head titled slightly, as if he was cocking one ear to hear Dean better.

“You have to take the pie out of the foil container, otherwise you get a funny taste in your mouth if the spoon has touched it,” Dean was instructing as he cut a piece of pecan pie and attempted to get it out of the pie plate without destroying the pristine triangle. He jammed the spoon underneath the crust and only succeeded in causing a crusty fault line to break across the top of the pie, little crumbs flying off.

“Motherfucker…” he muttered as he shoehorned the pie out in a mangled lump of sugary goodness onto the plate. He scooped out the remainder of the triangle slice and with a ‘thwack’ it landed on the plate.

“Is the pie not to your liking?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter what it looks like, okay? It all tastes the same.” He sucked a dollop of filling off his thumb.

A quizzical look came over Castiel’s face. “Of course it doesn’t matter what it looks like. I cannot see it.”

Dean scooped up a healthy serving of ice cream and slopped it down on the pie. “Nobody gets the first slice out in one piece anyhow. But with enough ice cream it doesn’t matter.”

He slid the plate over to Castiel, bumping it slightly against the angel’s fingers. Cas immediately pulled his hands off the table and settled them in his lap.

“Why is having pie for dinner so decadent?”

“Cuz it’s bad for you,” Dean answered easily, spooning up a large bite. “It’s too much sugar and no nutritional value, and it’s like you didn’t earn it by eating a bunch of vegetables first.” He held the spoonful up in front of Castiel and was about to order him to open up when Cas spoke again.

“And you would wish to do this every evening?”

“No, not every evening or it wouldn’t be special.” He inched the spoon closer to Castiel’s mouth.

“So you don’t have pie every night in order to preserve it’s significance.”

“Yeah, it like, if you don’t always get what you want when you want it, you want it more and then when you finally get it, it’s even better.”

“I see,” replied Castiel thoughtfully. Dean swore he could see the hamster in Cas’ brain going mad inside a tiny metal wheel.

“There’s too much talking and not enough pie eating going on here.”

When Castiel opened his mouth again to speak, Dean shoved pie in.

Dark eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his lips closed reflexively around the spoon and Dean slid the silver utensil out, while Castiel turned the pie and ice cream over in his mouth thoughtfully. He took a long time, getting pie on what must certainly be every single taste-bud on his tongue. Dean’s mouth fell open a little bit just watching it. Finally, Castiel swallowed.

“What kind of pie is this?”

“Pecan. Awesome, right?”

“Why have we never had this kind of pie before?”

Dean grinned at the near reverential yet slightly accusatory tone. “Like it?”

“It is very… smooth. And sweet. And perhaps slightly…” he ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth again, so very carefully and Dean leaned a little farther forward. “Salty.”

Dean exhaled a slow breath. It was just pie. Just two dudes eating pie. Pie, pie, pie. Focus on the pie. He’d been a saint for the past couple of days because, frankly, it felt a little lecherous to put the moves on a blind guy and Cas had still seemed… remote at times. It could have been that he was just focusing more on his other senses without the use of his eyes, or perhaps he was even more perplexed without the visual input. At any rate, after years of being prodded, pushed and emotionally poked by Sam, Dean knew what it was like to want a little space and time to figure some shit out. So he hadn’t pushed. That was him. Mr. Sensitivity.

And now he was staring at Cas’ lips as his tongue darted out to capture the last taste of pie like he was a fourteen year old girl at a Twilight convention. Cas turned his head expectantly toward Dean.

“Dean.”

“Yes?” _Please yes_.

Another pause, and then a head tilt. “Is there no more pie?”

Dean’s body jerked a little. “Uh, no, I mean, yes, I mean, there’s more pie.”

He carved another large bite, careful to get both pie and ice cream on the spoon (because dammit, it was an _art_ ) and held the spoon up toward Cas’ lips.

It foolishly didn’t occur to him until the spoon was hovering there for a moment and Cas hadn’t yet opened his mouth, that Cas couldn’t see the spoon.

And suddenly everything that came to mind to say sounded really, really, really fucking dirty.

He moved the spoon in closer and brushed it against the soft edges of Castiel’s lips, smearing them with corn syrup and cream. He didn’t even mean for it to be provocative.

Okay, maybe just a little.

He was going to hell. Again.

He looked away from Cas. Depressed Cas. Cas he was trying to help. And he wasn’t going to fuck it up (ha!) by _fucking_ it up.

The spoon slid in between the angel’s lips and as before, his lips closed tight around the metal as Dean pulled it slowly out. At this point, Dean thought he might be sweating a little. Castiel again rolled the confection around his mouth, like he had to catalogue each individual sensation and taste in case he never got the chance again. He swallowed. Dean reminded himself men don’t cry, men don’t cry. Except for the manly tear of doom. Which was, as the name implied, manly. In a moment of panic, he shoveled an impossible amount of pie in his own mouth.

Damn, it _was_ good pie. As good as store bought can get. If he wasn’t going to get anything else tonight, he was going to eat massive amounts of pie, god-dammit. He ignored his own sage council from earlier and gouged out an obscene chunk from the pie tin, not caring that the spoon had touched the foil plate.

“I enjoy the texture of this pie,” intoned Castiel lowly, and now that Dean had sex on the brain, it’s like Cas’ voice had a direct line to his groin. His voice was a reminder of dark nights and whispered words and tangled limbs. “It is heavy and dense.” Castiel licked his lips. “And velvety.”

“Holy fuck,” Dean blurted, and he almost drooled onto his own lap.

“Is something wrong?”

Dean forced in more pie. “No.” His voice was muffled around the food. It really was amazing how much pie you could get into your mouth in such a short amount of time.

“Are you eating the rest of my pie?”

“It’s _our_ pie!”

Castiel reached out tentatively and his hand collided with one of the cans of soda pop, knocking it over and sending it spilling over the edge of the table and into Dean’s lap. Dean cursed at the sharp splash of cold carbonation.

“Fuck!”

“I am sorry, Dean.”

Dean didn’t look up as he grabbed a roll of paper towels from the corner of the table. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s fine.” He started mopping up the mess on the table before it seeped over the other edge and dribbled on Cas. He piled the soggy mess on the far corner of the table. He wound another set of small not-so-absorbent rectangles around his hand and tried to dab at his jeans. Without touching too much of his lower body.

“Perhaps you should remove your pants.”

Dean was wiping ineffectually at the denim, accomplishing absolutely nothing. “No, it’s fine,” he repeated. “It’s not that…” he looked up sharply.

Castiel was leaning far over the corner of the table, encroaching into Dean’s space. He had a slight quizzical look on his face.

“You did _not_ just do that on purpose.”

The corners of Cas’ lips quirked and in one slow movement he scooched his chair closer to Dean’s, bumping his knees up against the other’s. Dean could see himself reflected in the shiny surface of the sunglasses Cas wore. “It is endearing how you forget that while I may not always understand common colloquialisms or human nuances, I am ancient and have a considerable amount of knowledge.”

“Yeah?” He tossed the rest of the paper towels aside.

“Yes. And it takes a surprisingly small amount of that knowledge to get you out of your pants.”

Dean inched his own chair closer in a couple of short jerks until Cas’ knees were slotted in between his own and he could feel the heat coming off them.

“Are you callin’ me easy?” Dean placed his palms flat on Cas’ knees and squeezed tightly.

Castiel leaned forward, his face stopping a few millimeters away from Dean’s. “Are you implying you are not?”

Dean was slightly cross-eyed looking at Cas so close. He reached up and touched the sunglasses. “Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes.”

Dean pulled the glasses off and tossed them down on the table. True to his word, Castiel’s dark lashes were fanned out against his skin, eyes closed. Neither Dean nor Castiel knew it, nor would they care, but women cried for lashes like that. They might even kill for them. Rich, inky, soft. Perfectly spaced. Dean ran one hand up the side of Cas’ neck and sunk his fingers into the short, thick hair and gripped tightly, the other hand still holding Cas’ knee. He tipped his head and pulled Cas in, settling his lips carefully, precisely.

It wasn’t as though you could have a favorite lip, that would be stupid, but if you _could_ , Dean would totally pick Cas’ bottom lip. It just _fit_ between his lips so well. And it put Dean’s own bottom lip in the soft swell between Cas’ lip and the start of his chin. There was always a little bit of roughness there, magical angelic shaving aside, that never quite got smooth and it prickled. Dean opened his mouth but before he could slide his tongue out, Cas pulled back slightly and turned his head to the side. He was still close enough that Dean could feel the twitch of his lips as he tried not to smile. Dean used the hand threaded through Cas’ hair to try and turn the angel’s head back. It was like pulling against a cement post. Dean pushed up and tried to get his face in front of Castiel’s and Cas simply turned his head the other way.

“Tease,” Dean breathed into his ear.

Cas’ lips _finally_ brushed against his. “I am not teasing you,” Castiel said softly. His tongue darted out and grazed against Dean’s lower lip. Dean surged forward, attempting to catch him off guard, but Cas felt the intention in Dean’s body milliseconds before it happened and he leaned back, just out of touch. “If you don’t always get what you want,” he continued with a lightning fast lick against Dean’s chin that went straight down, “when you want it,” another quick lick on the opposite earlobe, “then you want it more and when you finally get it,” his knee pressed against the inside of Dean’s thigh and Dean blew out a hot breath. “it’s even better.”

“Sneaky fucking angel is _sneaky_ ,” he hissed into Cas’ ear.

Cas brushed the tip of his nose up against the side of Dean’s face, reveling in the rough texture of the stubble against the sensitive skin. “And even if that were not true, I can hardly be accused of being a tease. I am, how did you put it?” He paused, flipping through millennia of memory to pull a certain set of Dean’s words from his impressive recollection. “A sure thing.”

He kissed Dean hard and Dean’s mouth immediately fell open. Cas’ tongue ran along the inside, sliding across the hot flesh. And it tasted like Cas and like pie and like everything he never knew he always wanted and thought he couldn’t have.

He felt Cas tap two fingers on his forehead and they were upstairs and man, that does _not_ get old. Sometimes it made Dean a little dizzy to think that no matter where they were or what they were doing in the literal blink of an eye, they can be elsewhere doing this. Without thinking, he blurted something like that out loud and Cas actually chuckled. Lips on lips, he backed Cas up against the bed carefully, mindful of the fact that he couldn’t see and was completely trusting Dean to move him where he needed to be. When Cas’ calves hit the bed, his knees buckled and Dean eased him down on to the mattress, climbing on top of him.

Cas loved the way Dean felt on top of him. Strangely confining in the best way possible, heavy, solid, and all he can hear is Dean and all he can touch is Dean and all he can smell is Dean and this was what he was fighting for. It seemed ludicrous at times like this that he ever thought he didn’t have a reason to fight for humanity when Dean was a part of it. Dean with his calloused hands that ran over his ribcage and up under his shirt, and yanked it over Cas’ head. Dean and his perfect mouth that he used to suck at Cas’ neck and his collarbone. Hot pressure points that were his favorite. Cas snaked his hand up Dean’s shirt, reveled at the hot skin spread tight across muscle and bone. It made Cas want to weep at times, the carelessness with which Dean treated his body. His perfect body, perfect even with new scars, breaks and bruises, that Cas loved dearly. This body that made him ache in his heart and in his groin. His hips bucked up and Dean snapped his back in response, pressed down hard, harder than he should if Cas was mortal, as if Dean’s desire is stronger than the average human body could take. Cas pulled at the fabric of Dean’s shirt deforming the shape and Dean pulled away long enough to jerk it over his head and toss it absently behind him. He fell back on top of Cas and Cas gasped at the first feeling of his hot chest pressed up against Dean’s.

Cas loved all parts of being with Dean, each with its own special stamp. This part, before all the clothes were shed, he loved because it was all still heat and promise and unbridled want. Dean’s knees straddled his hips, his weight split between the mattress and Castiel. Dean unbuttoned the jeans that Cas was still not quite used to, stiff denim made soft at the button and zipper from years of wear, molded to fit Dean’s body and not his own. But he loved being in Dean’s clothes, clothes that still held the scent of Dean even after they’ve been laundered. His erection pressed against the fabric, and it felt so much more… delicious against the hard denim.

He was pretty much sold on jeans now.

Dean’s hot hand slid past the open waistband, underneath the soft cotton of underwear and then pressed up against Castiel’s cock. By now Dean knew exactly what to do to make Cas’ hips buck and writhe underneath him. Cas moaned into Dean’s mouth and the sound made Dean kiss him harder, faster, like he was trying to hold Cas down to the bed with only his lips and his hand. Without being able to open his eyes, he focused on Dean’s breathing, hot and damp against his lips, his ear, his neck. And Dean’s hand, fevered against his dick, pulling and pressing and pumping. Dean’s lips were against his clavicle and Cas heard his own voice repeating Dean’s name over and over again. He grabbed Dean’s hand and sucked on the long digits and he heard Dean moan, long and low.

Cas expected it would be different without his sight and somehow less but it was almost more. He didn’t know which sensation to focus on in lieu of being able to see. Sound, taste, touch and smell all jockeyed for top billing. He fumbled with Dean’s jeans, finally cracking open the waistband and zipper. He thrust his hands down the back, pushed the fabric out of the way and grabbed at the firm flesh there.

Dean pulled back left Cas’ chest cold with the absence.

“Hang on, hang on,” Dean muttered, and he tugged hard on Cas’ jeans and underwear, worked them down his legs and Cas heard the fabric hit the floor with a soft thwump. He heard more fabric sliding and then Dean was on top of him again, naked and it was glorious. He didn’t understand why humans had so many issues with sex. Why would it be so wonderful if it was not to be enjoyed?

Dean licked Cas’ lips and Cas grabbed the back of his head and crushed their mouths together, wanting Dean’s tongue as deep in his mouth as it would go. He wrapped his knees around Dean’s waist, pulled him closer, their dicks rubbing against each other, and he heard Dean gasp and groan. This part he loved because they were beyond words and it was all unintelligent syllables, grunts and pants, skin sliding against skin, hands grabbing, pulling and pinching wherever they want to, wherever they can reach.

He felt the absence of one of Dean’s hands and he heard him fumble with the nightstand drawer, pulling his lips from Cas with a mumbled curse as he had to lean out to reach the lube and Castiel can see Dean in his minds eye, nude, muscles stretched taut as he extended to let his deft fingers grab what he wanted.

He heard the snap of the lid and he shivered exquisitely with the knowledge of what was about to come. Dean ran slick fingers over his hole, teasing around and over, and Cas’ panting breaths came out short and stuttered. Dean pushed one finger in and then two, swirled his digits and scissored, lapped at Cas’ neck while he did. Cas dug his fingers into Dean’s flank, leaving marks that wouldn’t fade for days, weeks, and it took most of his power to remember that Dean is mortal and if he forgot, he could truly hurt him. That thought made Cas’ chest ache and a low keening noise escape from his throat. A sound caused by the beauty of all things Dean.

Dean heard the low sound and captured it with his mouth, cradling the base of Cas’ spine with one hand as he lined himself up with the other. He nudged his way in, punctuating his movements with hot, wet, slightly sloppy kisses. Dean rested his head against Cas’ forehead as he pushed in further, their damp breaths mingling. Cas gripped Dean’s neck, his shoulders, his back, his ass, anywhere he could reach and when Dean was finally seated deep inside him, he pulled Dean’s head in and bit his lower lip hard. Dean groaned and his hips jerked automatically, which in turn made Cas buck upward. Dean pressed him down, drawing the moment out. Waiting.

This he loved because Dean inside him made him feel so many things at once. Desire, lust, want, love, weight, pleasure, pain, open and powerful. He knew he was in an extreme position of vulnerability, but he never felt unsafe. He trusted Dean with so much more than just his body. But that Dean trusted him, that Dean allowed himself to want and pant, gasp and moan and sometimes beg, made Castiel wonder why he ever thought he wasn’t invincible. He knew that if he could open his eyes, he would see Dean, hovered above him, eyes screwed shut, lips pursed. He could feel Dean’s shoulders and hip tense as he waited for Cas to adjust. Cas rocked his hips, forcing the motion until Dean couldn’t take it anymore and he pushed back. Dean pulled out and thrust back in, again and again, hitting the tight bundle of nerves deep within Cas. Cas threw his head back, arching his spine hard, baring his neck and Dean leant forward and bit at the soft, tender skin and sucked on his Adam’s apple, small blood vessels breaking under the strain. Cas’ voice became a pattern of “please, yes, Dean, please” and he couldn’t form any other words. He could hear low sounds coming from Dean, like soughs in trees. Deep, rushing, strong and everyone of them raced down his veins and pooled in low in his belly.

Dean’s hand wrapped around Castiel’s cock, and pulled, tugged, twisted. Perfect movements that had Cas arching back farther and drew deep sounds from his throat.

“I love how you sound. Fuck you feel good,” Dean murmured against his throat, moving his lips up to Cas mouth, thrusting his tongue in time with his hips. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes.” The word came out fervently, ardently, broken. His world was _DeanDeanDean_ and he didn’t want anything else. Ever. Dean inside him, Dean around him, Dean on top of him, Dean sucking his tongue and pulling his dick and thrusting into his ass and moaning into his ear.

He came hard with a sharp jolt and shout, thick streams of come spurting between them, slicking up their stomachs. Dean’s hand wrenched out every last drop and Dean gasped at the movement and sound.

Dean managed a few more hard, sharp thrusts and then he came fast, biting down hard on Castiel bottom lip, surging hot and deep in Castiel. The feeling made Cas jump his hips again, as if is body didn't realize that it had already worn itself out. Dean fell on top of him and licked his neck.

“Don’t leave.”

He sometimes said that afterward and it had taken a while for Cas to realize that he didn’t mean _right now_. He meant _ever_.

Castiel loved the heavy sensation that almost stole his breath. It made him feel warm that Dean trusted him.

“I won’t.” He kissed Dean’s lips.

Dean rolled off him, leaned over the bed and grabbed a t-shirt and toweled them off. He tossed the shirt in a corner and Cas snaked out an arm and a leg to pull him in. Dean hardly ever, if at all, initiated the post-coital cuddling, but he never turned it away. Cas knew he loved it, he just didn’t want to ask for it. The angel was more than happy to drape a leg over Dean’s lower body and throw an arm over his chest. He dropped his head to Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s legs shifted to let Cas’ fall in between and his hand came up automatically to rest over the angel’s forearm.

Dean titled his head to look at Cas’ face. Not to get all chick-flick, but it did kind of bum Dean out that he can’t see Cas’ eyes. It wasn’t too bad having a conversation when the sunglasses were on, but when the glasses were off and Cas just kept his eyes closed… And it wasn’t all emotion-y or think-y ( _shut it, it wasn’t_ ), Dean liked the color of Cas’ eyes. He liked it a lot. And he liked it when they were focused on him and nothing else. He liked it when he looked Cas and and saw Cas staring back at him, like Cas knew him and was happy with what he saw.

“They will be finished healing soon,” Cas murmured.

“Stay out of my head.”

“I was not in your head, but I can feel it titled toward mine. I assumed you were staring at me.”

“Smart ass.”

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

Cas felt Dean’s body tense slightly. “Cas?”

“I love you too, Dean. Go to sleep.”

* * * *

“Hello, Castiel.”

Castiel turned his face toward the kitchen.

“Alecto.”

He could almost feel her smile. While she, of course, wasn’t a deity as the Ancients had believed, she was infused with a certain power that fluxed through the room echoing her emotions.

She didn’t move any quieter than humans did, although he got the impression that was for his benefit, since he didn’t recall her making any noise at all the first night he met her. He felt the couch dip slightly as she sat down next to him.

“Sight not back yet?”

“It has nearly returned. Sometime this week, I expect.”

“I’m glad,” she replied truthfully. “As promised, I’ve considered your offer of an alliance and on behalf of all the Furies, I accept.”

“I am pleased.”

“Me too. And as my first order of business as one of your official allies, I would like to offer you a gift.”

“That is not necessary.”

“I know. Close your eyes and lean toward me please.”

He did as she asked, without fear. He felt her place a hand on either side of his face and then she gently tipped his head slightly forward. He felt her lips press against one eyelid, and then the other. She released him, and sat back.

“Open your eyes, God Creature.”

She had restored the remainder of his sight.

The first thing he saw was Dean standing behind her in the open doorway, stock still. Before Castiel could open his mouth, Dean had his gun drawn and the barrel of it was pressed to the back of Alecto’s head.

“Dean Winchester,” she sighed. Dean couldn’t see it, but she closed her eyes and seemed to bask for a moment, like a cat in a sunny patch.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was low and even. “This is Alecto, the Fury. She and her sisters have accepted our alliance.”

“Fantastic. Keep your fucking paws off him.” He jabbed the gun into her skull.

“She was restoring my sight.”

“Which she wouldn’t have had to do if she hadn’t fucking taken your eyes in the first place.” He dug the barrel a little harder into the mass of blue-black waves of hair and she gasped. It sounded like fear but Castiel could see her lips curling up into a perfect smile.

She opened her eyes and looked at Castiel. “His rage is wonderful.”

“Dean.” Castiel flicked his perfect eyes at Dean. Dean took a moment to examine the color. They were exactly the same. Lucky bitch.

“I don’t mind,” said Alecto easily. “He can shoot me if it makes him feel better. It won’t kill me.”

Well, that took the fun out of it.

“Don’t fucking tempt me,” said Dean as he clicked the safety on and tucked the gun back into its holster.

Alecto stood and turned to face him. She wasn’t petite, but she wasn’t a giant either. If he had to describe her from the neck down, he would have said average. Average height, average build, average rack. She was even in average clothes, dark jeans, black baby-doll tee and tennis shoes. From the neck up was an entirely different story. She had faultless porcelain skin and a perfect Ancient Grecian nose, impeccably straight and almost dainty. It stopped just above her cupid’s bow pink mouth and her pert little chin.

Her eyes though, made him shiver. Darker and deeper yellow than Azazel’s, they were still none-the-less in the definitively yellow family. And slightly round. Like an owl. She didn’t blink either while he stared at her.

And it fucking creeped him out. Eyes should not be that color. Ever.

“You may punch me if you like.”

That pissed him off too, but he was never one to say no to a lady. Despite Castiel’s sharp shout, Dean hauled off and clocked her hard in the jaw, not pulling it a bit. Her head rotated sharply on her neck and when it snapped back to face him, she was smiling, her white teeth stained a beautiful red, blood pouring out of her mouth. She held up a finger, like he should _just wait a moment_ while she closed her mouth, worked her tongue around for a bit and then turned her head slightly, spitting two teeth and a mouthful of blood into a left over mug on the coffee table.

“Again?” she asked hopefully.

He shrugged like it didn’t really matter and hit her again. This time she stumbled back slightly.

“Stop!” Castiel gave Dean a look as he took a step toward the Fury.

She was laughing, fucking laughing. “No, no,” she chuckled waving Cas away casually. She wiped her hand across her jaw and leaving a bloody streak along her face. “It’s perfect. Strike me Cronus, it’s perfect.” She giggled as she touched her fingers to her split lip and then darted her tongue out to lick up the blood. “Your rage is fantastic up close,” she exclaimed, yellow eyes alighting on Dean. “Simply fantastic. Better than I could have hoped for.” Her girlish giggles ended on a long sigh as she eyed Dean. “Oh, I could just eat you up!” She licked at the blood on her lips once more. “Well, boys, it’s been fun, but I need to be going.” She glanced at Castiel and bat her eyelashes. “I don’t suppose I could have a feather?”

As Dean lunged for her, she squealed playfully and darted out of the way, laughing. “You are too perfect, Dean Winchester,” she exclaimed and he realized she was fucking _teasing_ him. She turned back to Castiel, still smiling. “I trust you will teach him how to summon us?”

“Yes. We will not abuse the knowledge.”

“Oh, honey, it’s been so long since we were called for by name, abuse away.” She winked at Dean. “I’ll always be hungry for this one. He gets so angry! All the time! It’s like a buffet!”

“Get out before I take you up on the offer to shoot you. I’ll go for the face,” Dean warned.

She grinned and it was a little lusty. “Promises, promises.”

And then she was gone.

Dean stepped toward Cas and grabbed his chin, examining the angel’s eyes.

“Do they work?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes. They are perfect.”

 _Damn straight, they were._ Dean nodded once. “Okay then.”

Cas gripped Dean’s hips. “While it’s pleasing to see your countenance again, I will miss you taking care of me. You are an excellent care giver. ” Cas was rewarded by watching the flush creep up Dean’s neck and across his face. He loved that pink rush.

Dean waggled his eyebrows comically, trying to brush off the moment. “Yeah? Maybe you might need some care giving right now.” He kissed Cas hard on the lips.

Cas kissed him back and then placed his hands on either side of Dean’s face. Dean recognized the look in Cas’ eyes as a Chick Flick moment waiting to happen and tried to jerk away but Cas held his head still.

“When I start to lose my faith in humanity again, I will remember that I must only look to you to have it restored. You are the manifestation of all that is to be revered of humanity.” Dean tried to pull away and Cas could see he was scared. “Don’t,” he said forcefully, keeping Dean focused on his face. “Don’t say anything, don’t pull away.” He kissed Dean once, almost chastely and then pulled back.

“I will race you to bed.”

 

Fin


End file.
